


I Quit, That Means I Can Have One

by elvisqueso



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 420 blaze it, Bottom!Hannibal, Irresponsible references to Arlo Guthrie songs among others, M/M, Marijuana and other fun things, Smoking, Sock Garters, Top!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvisqueso/pseuds/elvisqueso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal's logic there is flawless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Wear an Ugly Habit Rather Well

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [this](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3166.html?thread=6065246#cmt6065246) prompt:
>
>>   
>  _Okay. We've all seen Mads smoking and it's hot as all hell. SO._   
>  _Hannibal used to smoke when he was younger. He was addicted, actually. But lung cancer risks, et cetera, he was able to quit._   
>  _Except something happens, he's stressed, he decides he's going to risk it and just have one cigarette and suddenly he's craving them all the time again._   
>  _This is potentially not helped by Will/Alana/whoever (preferably not Abigail) finding him smoking as hot as we all find Mads smoking._   
> 
> 
>    
> \---  
> Beta'd by the marvelous, magnanimous [Molly!](http://mean-cannibals.tumblr.com/)

     Such a silly indulgence, Hannibal chided himself. Some old itch from – what was it now? – 15 years ago? At least since Johns Hopkins. Everybody knew better than to smoke their lungs black, but nobody seemed to care in those days. One minute a man was elbows deep in some tragic bovine and the next he was standing out behind the Hospital with a cigarette between his teeth. The folly of youth - so sure of invincibility.

     There were better, cleaner methods for handling stress; Hannibal knew this. He wouldn’t be much of a psychiatrist if he didn’t; still, he slid his cash across the counter and pocketed a pack of Davidoffs. Leave guilt to the Catholics.

     When necessary, Hannibal was a master of rationalization. The day had been… stressful, to say the least, and he deserved some form of indulgence. Since he had quit the habit so very long ago, it stood to reason he should be able to indulge a little. Once in a great while never hurt, now, did it?

     It hurts even less to have half-a-bottle of Vintage Merlot Classico on hand.

     Hannibal only wished now that he hadn’t allowed Will the habit of letting himself into Hannibal’s home unannounced; now Will stood before him, brows raised in curiosity, eyes fixed on the cigarette in Hannibal’s lips.

     “I didn’t know you smoked.”

     “I don’t.” Hannibal exhaled and reached for his glass of Merlot. Will’s lips quirked upward.

     “I can see that. Clearly.” Will sat down next to Hannibal on the sofa. “Mind if I join you in not smoking?” He pulled a pack of Camels from his jacket and patted around for a lighter. Hannibal took the fag from Will and lit it with his Davidoff.

     Well, why not?

     “It’s an ugly habit.”

     “Oh, I don’t know,” Will mused, “You wear it pretty well.”

     Hannibal was drunk enough to blush at the compliment. He took another drag, keenly aware of Will’s eyes fixed on his mouth. Perhaps he should indulge more often. “Is that why you’re ‘not smoking’?”

     “Naturally.” Will said, exhaling a puff of smoke and watching the curling white against the light from the nearest window. The smoke swirled around his lips and sort of hazy contentment settled in his eyes. Hannibal felt a little parched, then. Another glass of wine would fix that, he thought. Hannibal poured the last of the Merlot and handed the glass to Will.

     “You need to catch up,” he said. “And I need to get another bottle.”

     Hannibal returned with an unopened bottle of Zinfandel to Will waving the now empty glass at him. “No time to waste, Doctor,” he cheered, “I have catching up to do.”

     Will caught up quite easily, it turned out. Zinfandel now depleted, and _Kind of Blue_ on the turntable ( “You own a Miles Davis album?” “Contrary to popular belief, Will, I am, in fact, aware of music made after 1935.”), they had gone through half the pack of Davidoffs and had found the Hookah in Hannibal’s attic; a gift which he had never really used. They tried their hand at it, and now sat on a plethora of cushions and pillows from the couch, Arab style, enjoying the sweet taste of jasmine and lavender from the vapor. “I’d have a fire in the hearth, normally, but, I’m all out of firewood.”

     “We can make-believe.” Will assured him with a good-natured pat on the knee, “It’s not so hard to do, you know.”

     “You’re right. Just think about the sizzling. Pop, crack of ember and the smell of burning wood.”

     “Pretend the whole room has an orange glow and you’re there.”

     “I have a fire in the fireplace now, and nobody but you and I know that.”

     “Exactly.”

     “Don’t tell Uncle Jack.”

     “Our secret.” Will winked at him and took another draw from the pipe. His eyes were hazy in contentment. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this…undone.” Hannibal huffed a laugh, a smile stuck on his face. The fault of the wine, with no help from nicotine or jasmine.

     “I don’t think I’ve ever _been_ this undone since college.”

     “I sometimes forget that you must have been a young man at one point.”

     “I have that effect on people.”

     “Now that I think about it, though,” Will mused into the curling vapor, “I’ll bet you were a real ladies-man.”

     “I’m not that exclusory.”

     “It’s a figure of speech. But am I right?”

     Hannibal tried to say something to the effect of “ _a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell_ ,” but he only ended up leaning in closer to Will, breathing in his scent and the scent of the vapor and wine. Spice, lavender, heat.

     “How right do you want to be, Will?”

     Will, in a rare moment of boldness, looked Hannibal straight in the eye, the shine of their mutual stupor an accent in piercing blue. A giggle forced its way past Will’s lips as he took a drag from the pipe. He reached up and took Hannibal’s jaw, gently, and coaxed his mouth open. Will breathed a stream of the vapor into Hannibal’s mouth, a sigh and a hum with it as Hannibal drew closer, inhaling the exquisite smoke and then meeting his lips to Will’s. He breathed the vapor out through his nose, his mouth now preoccupied with the tasting of the lips and tongue of his dear Will, bathed in Zinfandel and nicotine.

     Will’s hand moved along Hannibal’s jaw and neck, fingers caressing the skin, tightening and relaxing at intervals, gently. Hannibal could feel the warmth of the room pressing in on them, so he pressed closer to Will. His hands moved around Will’s torso to his back, stroking up and down like a slow massage, fingers pressuring lightly into the muscle.

     This was all a wonderfully terribly idea. In the back of his mind, Hannibal could have been laughing at himself; in one day he had broken a 15 year period of relative sobriety and broached an all new vice with the imminent threat of complete derailment. The truly, wonderfully, terrible part was that Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to care about it beyond the friction of clothing between himself and Will.

     Hannibal felt far too acutely the absence of Will’s lips when Will pulled away to turn the record over. He followed until Will actually stood up, falling over to lay on his back, cushions pillowing like a warm cloud around him. The music started again and Will returned with another cigarette. He settled atop Hannibal, their belly’s pressed comfortably against the other, and placed the fag between Hannibal’s lips. Hannibal puffed a little as Will mouthed along his jaw.

     “As your unofficial psychiatrist,” Hannibal said, trying to aim a smoke ring through another smoke ring, “I feel it is my responsibility to advise against this on the grounds that neither of us are particularly sober.” Will smiled against his neck.

     “And as your unofficial patient, I respectfully choose to ignore your advice.”

     “I can’t say I didn’t try.”

     “No.” Will took the cigarette from Hannibal’s mouth and puffed a little near Hannibal’s ear, “Another thing we can’t tell Uncle Jack. He’d be jealous, I think.”

     “Of whom?”

     “Of you.”

     “Because I’m riding his pony?”

     “Pony?” Hannibal waved the question off as Will sat up, settling his weight on Hannibal’s pelvis. He cocked his head to one side as he knocked ashes from the fag. “Don’t be so sure that you’re the one who’s gonna be doing the riding, Doctor.” Hannibal tried to sit up, then, but Will forced him back down, placing the stump of a cigarette between his lips. “Nope, no,” Will said, “None of that.”

     Hannibal’s interest in whatever Will was planning felt saturated by the wine and the smoke; more so, now with the scent of Will’s pheromones spiking the mix. He let himself lie back, watching as Will deftly removed his shirt. He managed to focus on the chords of muscle moving under skin as Will tossed the fabric aside. Like Adonis in euphoria, Hannibal thought.

     Will took the cigarette out of his mouth mid-inhale and kissed him voraciously, pulling back only to let them cough a little from the miss-timed breaths. He barely had time to breathe before Will was kissing him again, savoring Will’s tongue inside his mouth, sweet and smoky. He felt Will’s fingers brush against his chest, un-doing the buttons of his shirt.

     Will ran his fingers through Hannibal’s chest hair, leisurely exploring the dips and curves of Hannibal’s body. Smiling against Hannibal’s mouth, he teased one of Hannibal’s nipples with his thumb, circling and gently pressing. Hannibal moaned, softly, instinctively arching his back. Will kissed a trail down Hannibal’s neck, along his collar-bone, and down his torso to where he was working to remove Hannibal’s pants, unabashedly nuzzling the path of coarse curls sprouting there.

     Hannibal sighed in relief when Will managed to free his growing erection. The sight of Will nosing along his length with a look of absolute adoration was enough to make Hannibal’s breath catch in his throat, and he was very suddenly wishing he had more wine for this.

     Finally, Will took Hannibal into his mouth, slowly, oh, so slowly, bobbing up and down. Hannibal had to put his fist between his teeth to keep from growling at Will to _just go faster_. Even in such a disheveled state, Hannibal could never let himself be so rude as to command like that.

     It was like a desperate kind of test, Hannibal trying so hard to memorize the sensation of Will’s tongue masterfully working the underside of his cock, the pressure of Will’s lips and whatever Will was doing with his fingers, pressing and rubbing along Hannibal’s pelvis and thighs.

 _Flamenco Sketches_ swam into his consciousness over the breathy moans and obscene slurping sounds. Hannibal could have wept for the beauty of it.

     “Where,” Will murmured, “oh, where are your condoms and lube, Doctor?”

     “Mmn, bedroom. Nightstand.”

     Will smiled and started to get up. “Don’t go anywhere. I will be. Right. Back.” He punctuated each word with a kiss somewhere between Hannibal’s navel and collar before standing and loping, as the lustfully intoxicated do, towards Hannibal’s bedroom.

     As he waited, Hannibal had textures; the delicate stitching in the pillows beneath him, the remnants of vapor and other incense settling in the air, the smoothness of his teeth in his mouth against his tongue. His pants were half-way down his legs, fabric bunched and creasing around his knees. Will Graham was retrieving objects from his own room with which he had considered fucking Will with himself someday. Ah, how the tables do turn.

     Will returned, his fingers slicked with lube. “Are you ready for your prostate exam?” He grinned as if he’d been waiting an eternity to get to say that. Hannibal grimaced.

     “If I wasn’t so intoxicated, Will, I’d probably strangle you.”

     “When I’m feeling more adventurous, you could try.”

     Will knelt down and pulled Hannibal’s pants off the rest of the way (if with some difficulty). “Socks on…socks off…socks…” He muttered, tapping Hannibal’s clothed ankle. “I kinda like the little garters…”

     “You’re a stockings man.”

     “I’m a garters man.” Hannibal let Will do as he pleased, raising Hannibal’s knees and massaging his entrance with a cool, slick, finger. “Sock garters. I didn’t know people still wore those.”

     “Hmn, I might like to see you in them, sometime.” Will snorted in amusement.

     “Good luck with that.”

     Will settled himself down between Hannibal’s legs, treating the head of Hannibal’s member as he teased, sliding his index finger in and out, pressing just short of the prostate.

     “Better yet,” Hannibal sighed, “full black lingerie, with garters for nylon stockings; your wrists tied to the bedposts.” Will hummed, the vibrations shooting pleasure through Hannibal’s cock.

     “Do you think about me in black lace often, Doctor?” Will inserted his middle finger, massaging and relaxing in a languid and nearly frustrating rhythm. Hannibal arched his back, pushing his pelvis upward in time with Will’s fingers as Will stroked him with his free hand. “What other fantasies have you had about me?”

     “Keeping the glasses on, taking you in your own office with the door ajar.”

     “Taking a walk on the wild side, Doctor?”

     “Mmm.”

     “I never thought about it before, but I may want you to smoke more often.”

     “Is that so?”

     “It’s quite appealing.”

     “I’ll keep that in mind, unhealthy as the habit is.” Will smiled and removed his fingers, leaving Hannibal with a kind of buzzing under his skin. “You like catching me with my guard down, don’t you, Will?”

     “I like catching you with your pants down, in your little sock garters. These are adorable.” Will lifted one of Hannibal’s legs and nosed along the cloth once he had a condom on, stroking himself with a generous amount of lube. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

     “You _tease_.”

     Will smiled as he leaned over Hannibal, the doctor’s legs over his shoulders, and pushed in, slowly. Hannibal’s fingers tangled in his hair, tightening and loosening alternatively as Will kissed him, licking at his lips and nipping gently. Hannibal let his head fall back against the pillows, eyes closed, and focused on the pleasure, the heat, Will’s teeth on his neck, and the steady in-and-out of his breath in time with Will’s rhythm. He could feel the pleasure spreading through his pelvis, bringing him closer as he sighed and moaned unabashed in the heavy air.

     “Too soon,” he managed to gasp when Will started to go harder, “Not yet…I’ll cum.” Will, breath short and muscles twitching with adrenaline unused in the sudden pause, leaned back and let one of Hannibal’s legs down, his hand rested on the knee. He massaged circles with his thumb around the joint as he hummed:

     “Mmmm,” his eyes were dark and glossy, glinting wet as the beads of sweat on his shoulders. “C’mere.” He ran his hand along Hannibal’s forearm, gripping to pull him upright. He let Hannibal settle on his lap, straddling him and wrapping his arms about his neck. He felt along Hannibal’s thighs, calves, occasionally hooking a finger under the sock garters and snapping them while kissing him softly.

     “Take your time,” Hannibal murmured against Will’s lips, breath hitching at each snap of elastic, “We have the entire evening to ourselves.” Will grinned.

     “Tell you what,” he said, moving them so his back was braced against the couch, “how about you take your time first?”

     “Chivalrous of you.”

     “Bottoms first.”

     “Careful of that cheek, Will. It might get bitten someday.”

     Will laughed as Hannibal sucked at his neck and collarbone, nibbling at his ears. Hannibal guided Will back into him, wriggling his hips a little to get comfortable.

     “Now,” Hannibal said, taking Will’s hands and pinning them on either side of his head, “I believe there was some talk of riding?” Will grinned up at him.

     “I believe there was.”

     Hannibal buried his face in Will’s neck, biting and sucking while he rode Will with a building pace. He could smell the alcohol and nicotine in Will’s sweat, practically tangible in the shared heat with Will trying very hard to buck upward into him, hands balled into fists and straining for something to just _grab_. Hannibal finally let up his grip, moaning Will’s name as Will grabbed his ass, squeezing the round flesh, and spreading him more.

     He rolled his hips, grinding down harder. Will gasped with his climax, head tilted back in ecstasy as Hannibal rode him out, stroking himself the rest of the way until there were white streaks of cum all over Will’s chest.

     They fell over against the couch, covered in cum and breathing hard. Eventually, Will adjusted them so he was laying on his back with Hannibal resting against his chest.

     “You know what I could use now?”

     “Hm?”

     “I could use another cigarette.”

     They burst out laughing, the giddiness of euphoria seeped into their skin now as Hannibal dug through pillows for the Davidoffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever seen Jim Jarmusch's Coffee and Cigarettes, I highly suggest seeing, at the very least, the [Somewhere in California](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sr2zI99bvso) scene with Tom Waits and Iggy Pop. Both of them claim to have quit smoking, but decided that, since they have quit, it's alright to have just one.
> 
> Jim Jarmusch is fucking brilliant, man.


	2. The Tambourine Man's Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's logic is also flawless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd, once again, by marvelous [Molly](http://mean-cannibals.tumblr.com/)!

Hannibal Lecter regretted very little in his life – and that which he did was usually fleeting and superfluous. Of all that transpired between himself and Will Graham on that evening doused in alcohol and nicotine, Hannibal regretted the nicotine. Now he itched for a fag more than he ever had in fifteen years. The pack of Davidoffs, long since depleted, burned in the back of his mind as he tried to attend to his patients. Try as he might, the itch persisted and, by the time he was ushering his last patient out, Hannibal had resolved to take a valium and not do anything else when he got home.

Of course, he never made it that far.

His phone gleamed Will Graham’s number in bright white with the words “Have an interesting puzzle; are you available?” printed black and tempting beneath. In a contest between valium and Will Graham, Hannibal found his answer to be knee-jerk and embarrassingly obvious. So, in an hour or so, Hannibal was in the halls of the Academy, finding the door marked “Graham, Will; Psychoanalytics” left invitingly ajar.

Will, himself, was standing, palms pressed against the smooth wood of his desk, leaned over a spread of photographs and manila folders. On the only piece of desk not occupied by paper sat a bottle of aged whiskey and two glasses, one of which Will was probably sipping from.

Hannibal tapped the door twice with his knuckles, “May I come in?”

Will looked up from his papers and genuine grin spread over his face.

“Absolutely.” He said, moving a bit to the side and gesturing Hannibal nearer. He poured the other glass and handed it over. “Riddle me this,” he began, indicating the various eight by ten, colored, glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Depends on the point of view.” Hannibal sipped from the glass, picking up a couple of the pictures. Two very different murders, and each as different from the other pictures of murders as they were from each other. They all might as well have been day-to-day one-shots from the local PD offices. “It’s a riddle that was never meant to have an answer.”

“People managed to come up with answers anyway.” Will said, “I believe Carroll’s favorite went something like ‘both produce few notes that are all very flat, and are ‘nevar’ with the wrong end in front.’”

“With ‘nevar’ being ‘raven’ spelt backwards.”

“Notice anything similar in these murders?”

“Nothing. Except the fact that they are murders.” Hannibal set the pictures down and spread them a bit, to give himself a spectral view, “I assume we can call their murderer another common denominator.”

“And we only know that because the killer left their fingerprints everywhere. No matches in the system, but there they are. A riddle of a person without a solution.” Will leaned with the back of his hips against the desk, glass of whiskey casually suspended in his fingers. Hannibal took another sip from his own.

“Are you asking me to help you make one up?” He asked.

“I find improvisation more conducive when there’s two minds to play off each other.”

“So, what makes a raven like a writing desk?”

“Exactly.”

Hannibal sipped his whiskey.

That itching was back and a bit fiercer than before; damned if he’d let that interfere now. He removed his suit jacket and hung it next to Will’s on the door coat rack.

“I’m about to ask you for something, I’d like you to tell me ‘no.’”

“What is it?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette to spare, would you?” Will’s eyebrows raised, and Hannibal had the distinct impression that he had asked the wrong person for this kind of mercy.

“I’m not sure I want to say no.”

“I’d appreciate it if you did.”

“No to your ‘no.’”

“We can’t smoke in here.”

“Of course we can.” Will walked around the desk and, pulling open a drawer, retrieved a small, steel and glass vaporizer. “So long as it’s vapor and not smoke.”

“You have quite a talent for finding loopholes.”

“Very Catholic culture down in French Louisiana.”

“I guess the Byzantines had less talent than the French.”

“More subtle, perhaps. A bit bureaucratic.” Will said as he checked the chamber of the small, tube shaped device. Hannibal could smell a bit of spice, something herbal, rubbing onto Will’s fingers.

“Some would call it rationalization.” He said.

“Others call it interpretation.”

“It’s a fine line.”

“Like the similarity between a raven and a writing desk?”

Hannibal started unfastening the buttons on his vest, watching as Will tracked his fingers down his torso. He smirked, “I think your door is a bit ajar.” He folded the vest and draped it over the back of Will’s office chair. He paused a moment to asses it. “Is this a Saarinen?”

“Is that really what’s on your mind right now?”

“It could be the whiskey.”

“Then we better get this thing going.” And Will took a deep inhale of the vapor, holding it, then letting it seep slowly from his nostrils and teeth as he handed it over. Breathing it in, Hannibal could taste something like chamomile, only slightly sharper.

“Will Graham, I’m starting to think you planned this.”

“I told you I was good at loopholes.”

“Damiana. It’s an interesting alternative.”

“I hope you appreciate that I put a lot of thought into that choice.”

“I most certainly do.” Taking another drag, Hannibal considered which part of Will he’d very much like to have his mouth on first. Probably the neck, or ear; perhaps he could press Will’s eyelids closed and gently kiss them.

A thought came to him, and he touched Will’s waist gently to encourage him onto the desk, clearing the pictures with their circles and arrows and their paragraphs onto the floor. Taking one of Will’s ankles delicately in his hand, his pushed the pant leg up out of the way. “You couldn’t possibly…”

“Call it a moment of weakness.” Will said, successfully blowing a ring of vapor into the air. “I wanted to see what you would do about it. You liked the idea before.”

“I still do.” And Hannibal quickly had Will’s pants off and folded over the office chair, his hands smoothing over the fine black fabric of Will’s socks and the elastic bands of their garters. Hannibal _definitely_ knew where his mouth was going first, now.

Kneeling in the space between Will’s legs, Hannibal pressed his lips to the joint of Will’s knee, travelling down to his ankle. Will made pleased little noises, and the scent like chamomile drifted further into about the room.

“Cannabis is illegal in Virginia, Will.” Hannibal said, looking up at the content haze in Will’s eyes.

“I know.” And the vaporizer was back in Hannibal’s mouth, held there between Will’s fingers and moving, just ever so slightly, to and fro as he inhaled. “But we’re taking a walk on the wild side, remember?” He said, pulling the vaporizer from Hannibal’s mouth and rather purposefully ruining the hold of gel in Hannibal’s hair with his fingers.

“Disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind?”

“First Davis, now Dylan.”

“I give credit where credit is due.” Hannibal said, straightening enough to wrap his arms around Will’s waist and feel the hardening of Will’s cock against his chest. Everything seemed to move a little bit slowly, as if everything were billowing smoke; a kind of curling and flowing sensation forced its way up his throat as he looked up at Will with what was probably dopey adoration. He couldn’t be quite sure.

“ _Ei, Misteris Tambourine Man, atlikti į man dainą_.” Or, at least, he’d tried to say that; it couldn’t have sounded like more than a stream of badly concealed giggling because that was exactly the sound that was also coming out of Will’s mouth now. Hannibal didn’t imagine he was doing any better at this point.

“Oh, wow.” Was about all Will managed to say before pressing his lips to Hannibal’s scalp, kissing at his hair, down to his ears and across his forehead. Hannibal simply closed his eyes and let him, too fluid to do anything about it even if he wanted to. He hummed and let his hands wander up Will’s back, across his shoulder blades and back down again. Will shifted and rolled his hips toward the solid warmth of Hannibal’s chest, pressing his erection against him and moaning softly.

About then, the damiana started overtaking everything, and all Hannibal could understand was the hardening of his cock and just how much he wanted to put it inside of Will. He kissed his way up Will’s front, unbuttoning his shirt as he went, until he had Will’s lips and teeth and tongue near confused with his own. He pressed forward until Will’s back was arched against the flat of the desk, his knees raised, rubbing against the clothing on Hannibal’s upper body.

“ _You_ ,” he drawled, “are not naked, my friend.”

“Neither are you.”

“More than you are.”

With a rather flourished “ _Well_ then,” Hannibal straightened to make a show of removing his shirt and dropping his pants. This proved fairly difficult, since his legs seemed to have quite forgotten how to stand. Will laughed from his back, the vaporizer now rolling along the top of the desk. He cut off with a yelp when Hannibal snapped one of the garter straps against his skin.

“Okay, okay!” he gasped, some hitched snickering forcing its way past his teeth. “Okay, oh– wait!” He started laughing again as he pushed Hannibal back from leaning in over him, his hands more or less scrambling at the hair on Hannibal’s chest. “Wait, turn me around!”

“ _Laukti_ – what?”

“Some- _heehee_ -someone has to watch the door.” Will could barely get that sentence out, pressing a socked foot against Hannibal’s hip as if he were trying to turn him. Hannibal was having none of it.

“ _We_ ,” he murmured, or, tried to, “are walking on the wild side.” He leaned in again, this time successfully draping himself over Will’s front, forearms resting by the man’s head. Will puffed at his face and bumped a heel against his ass. Hannibal just rubbed his nose against Will’s and moved back to slip down between Will’s thighs, holding them up and out of the way. Will swung his legs a bit in the air and patted Hannibal’s head with the pads of his socked feet.

“You look ridiculous.” He huffed, lolling his head back and rolling it back and forth on the desk.

“You look deee-licious.”

“You sound like a cheesy porno.”

“Did you smile, though?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, whatever.”

And, with that, Hannibal dove right in.

He was vaguely aware of Will making pleased little noises as he ran his tongue ‘round Will’s hole. It was hard to tell if the taste was one thing or another, as his tongue was feeling rather like a fuzzy bit of velvet by then. Occasionally, a socked foot would swing down dangerously by his head, Will’s way of telling him to stop but don’t stop.

“Are you done playing around?” A note of frustration colored Will’s voice, “I’m done playing around.”

Hannibal’s lips made a smacking sound as he pulled away, “I don’t know,” he said, “I guess I could be.”

“Devil,” Will grumbled, “Incubus. Mean, old man.”

“I’m not old.”

“You’re older than me.”

“That’s just older than you. Not _old_.”

“Prove it. Do you even have it up yet?”

“It’s _been_.”

“Well?”

Hannibal rose and leaned over Will, pressing his palms to the smooth surface of the desk as Will’s legs remained hooked over his shoulders. “Well what?”

“Well are you going to fuck me already or-?”

“I will if you ask nicely.”

Will puffed at him again, rolling his head and going limp like a petulant child. “Okay. Oh, Dr. Lecter, would you please fuck me? Pretty, pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on the very top?”

Will didn’t make it to the end of that sentence before both started giggling like lunatics, Hannibal pressing his face to Will’s chest trying ineffectively to hide it. Will kicked at the air over Hannibal’s shoulders while he tried to regain control. “And put on some speed, would you?”

“I would if you had any lubricant.”

“Well I do.”

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“I can’t even see straight right now. You think I’m going to remember to tell you where shit is?”

“Well?”

“Check the drawer- no, the other one.”

Will amused himself pushing at Hannibal’s chest with his feet while Hannibal put the condom on and slicked himself with a bottle of surprisingly fine lubricant. He grabbed one of the stocking feet and pressed his thumb into the instep. Will kicked out, coughing a laugh as Hannibal wrapped Will’s legs around his waist and stifled the other man’s laughing with a sloppy kind of kiss.

At some point the gasps and the laughs became a single kind of blurred noise; undeniably pleased, and simultaneously surprised. Hannibal presses his hands over Will’s mouth to stifle them. He bit his own lip to do the same, but wasn’t nearly as effective. The room was a gently spinning vortex and Will’s and Hannibal’s bodies were at the center. There were times during their lovemaking that Hannibal felt like he was standing right beside himself, appreciating the view from the box seats. Watching Will suck his fingers while he pumped Will’s cock in time with their thrusts. Watching himself watching Will.

Will came with a rough bite down on Hannibal’s fingers, dragging Hannibal along with him until they were boneless and slipping down onto the floor beneath Will’s desk. One of Will’s garters came undone and left one sock slipping down his ankle to bunch at the heel. The air buzzed, the scent and weight of a post-coital high washed over them.

The vaporizer had rolled off the top of the desk and now lay innocent on the floor amid the twenty-seven eight by ten, colored, glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one. Will tried to toe it towards them, and only managed to push it further away. He let his head fall back against the floor with a huff.

“Well, I guess that cuts us off.”

Will cupped Hannibal’s face in his hands. They were warm and work-rough. “We should get dressed.” He kissed him before urging him upright and reaching for any kind of clothing that might be nearby. They cleaned up and dressed in that come-down haze where things just begin to clear and feel rather sharp. Picking up some of the photographs from the floor, Hannibal paused.

“I think I know what makes a raven like a writing desk, by the way.”

Will paused mid-medication, two aspirin poised in his hand. “Shit, really?”

“What makes them the same,” he said, “ is that they are both completely different.”

“Ohhh,” Will’s eyes widened as he just heard the click of the Universe aligning itself. He reached for one of the nearest glossy photographs and peered at it. “ _Ohhhh_.”

“What do you see, Will?” Hannibal, too, peered at the photograph.

“The elaborations of a bad liar.” Will grinned, “Thanks.” Will looked down to see the innocent little vaporizer, forgotten amid the photographs. He picked it up and gave it a kiss “And you, too.” Hannibal licked his lip.

“I’d rather take all the credit. I have a massive ego, you understand.”

“I’m sure your ego will be fine.” Will said, returning the vaporizer to his desk, “Or did you really mean something else?”

Hannibal leaned against the desk, arms crossed in a mock indignity. “Of course I meant something else. That’s what people do, isn’t it?”

“Oh, ho,” Will hummed, hands now rested on either side of Hannibal’s hips, “and what else do people do?”

“They kiss, make up, solve murder cases.” Hannibal mused, “They have a cigarette in the afterglow.”

“Then let’s do what people do then.” Will smiled, pressing his lips to Hannibal’s mouth, softly and sweetly. “Let’s have a cigarette.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I learned more about smoke-able aphrodisiacs to than I ever thought I would.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turnera_diffusa)
> 
> _Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome and, as always, encouraged._


	3. The Innocent Victims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i' M...  
>  _[Kikuriki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikuriki) commented on Chapter 2:_
>
>>   
>  Can you like... do a little excerpt with scarred for life Jimmy or Zeller? That'd be like, the icing on an admittedly great cake. Just Jimmy or Zeller walking down the hall and hearing moans, peeking and seeing Hanni and Will doped to shit and having sex on a desk with Will in stockings... and then backing away slowly. XD

Some days are, by perception or daylight or the bending of reality - whichever one believes is best or most entertaining - longer than others.  Brian Zeller sniffed at his coffee, a pitifully brown thing from a pot he'd made first thing in the morning.  Today, it was older than usual.

"You know what we need?" Brian griped - and griping is really what he does best when he is able - he griped: "We need a Starbucks.  Or maybe an Einstein Bagels.  I want one right in the atrium.  Set it right next to the break area and: _eureka!_   Quality coffee all day."

Jimmy Price responded with a typical look from him which explained: ' _What I think of your idea is actually quite positive, but, because I refuse to give you the satisfaction of having a good idea, I am going to tell you exactly why it isn't._ '  Brian clenched his jaw and prepared his better wits.

"Right.  Quality, over-priced coffee owned by a franchise, rather than anything the students can actually afford every day."

"Yeah, but the _students_ can also _work_ there."

"What are we?  A state college?  This is the F.B.I., Zee."

"Which is exactly why we need better coffee."

Jimmy opened his mouth to say more, which Brian had planned to talk over as was his usual habit, when a funny little noise up the hall cut them both to the quick.

They paused, unsure if just one or the other or both had heard the same thing.  A similar funny little noise followed and Jimmy looked at Brian with a look to mean ' _This is the kind of thing that gets white people like me killed in horror films_.'

Brian looked back with a stare which explained that yes, it was, but they weren't _in_ a horror film, so what harm could investigating really do?  ' _Besides,_ ' his stare continued, ' _we're with the mother-flippin' F.B.I._ '

Jimmy shrugged and the two tip-toed carefully down the hallway towards the classrooms.

The funny little noises seemed to grow into bigger, more confusing noises.  Which then evolved into lewd-ish and, frankly, terrifyingly pornographic noises.  Jimmy tried to turn back twice and was nabbed at the collar by Brian each time.

As they drew nearer to the source of the distressing noise, Jimmy had begun tugging at Brian's shirt-sleeve like a first-grader in a corn maze.  As smell was now accompanying the noise which resembled something which was quite illegal and yet neither really felt up to busting anybody for at the moment.

The doorway from which the worrying and pornographic noises came had a very particular plaque to label it, which Brian was, at first, reluctant to accept or read a second time.

_Graham, Will; Psychoanalytics._

Perilously, they peered around the doorjamb, and instantly regretted the decision.

Jimmy's look now said: ' _Should we close the door, or...?_ '

Brian, firstly ill-tempered to do Will Graham any favors whatsoever and, secondly, wishing only to wash the image from his eyeballs as soon as is humanly possible, responded with a look which said, ' _No.  No, I think...I think we should just go._ '

And so they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why must we play God?


End file.
